


the gentleness that comes

by staalesque (stvebrnes)



Series: altered realities ▹ mats/chris [4]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Boyfriend of the Year Christopher James Kreider, Brief Internalized Transphobia, Brief gender dysphoria, Established Relationship, M/M, Menstrual Sex, Supportive chris, Trans Male Character, blood mention, trans!Mats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-30 21:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21146711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stvebrnes/pseuds/staalesque
Summary: Fitful hours pass, Mats unable to relax enough. He can’t sleep, partially due to his nap earlier today, but mostly due to discomfort. Chris is still awake, lying next to him, either scrolling social media or watching something with headphones in, because there’s no sound yet the definite soft blue glow of a screen.Mats lays on his side, one leg pushed out behind him a little to cross over Chris’s calf, still maintaining contact even as he tries to let himself drift off. He can’t help it though. His body won’t let him sleep, still buzzing with activity and thoughts and impressions from the day. He’s also incredibly horny, a frustrating feeling because there’s no outlet, unless he wants to disappear to the shower for a conspicuous amount of time at 11pm. It’s not a situation where Chris is being a little shit and trying to rile him up either. It’s solely his body’s fault, as much of this situation is.





	the gentleness that comes

**Author's Note:**

> this is entirely self indulgent and i'm not sorry. takes place generally after [all my sins laid bare](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13335258), and references a few characters/events within, but not in explicit detail, so i do recommend reading that one first before reading this one. also [in the quiet wild](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13108551) if you like begging chris as much as i do

Of all the places Mats takes comfort, Chris’s arms rank the highest. They’re thick with muscle, strong from seasons of hockey and physical tomfoolery, ending in hands that can deliver a punch just as well as they can trace the heart lines of Mats palms, leaving warmth in their wake. Chris’s arms are his safe place, a shelter from the ragings of his own mind and crude talking heads on every network, disparaging their team and their (lack of) leadership. Mats enjoys spending his mornings in those arms, easily wrapped up and held hostage even as the room glows brighter with the watery spring sun. 

This morning, however, Mats feels trapped. 

He should have known, from the stress of the previous season and the subsequent havoc his body had had to recover from, that some things wouldn’t be the same. Most people find that this process stops when they become stressed, but for some reason, his always came back. 

Usually he can hide it, timing bathroom breaks with when he needs to change, or taking full advantage of his lone shower privileges and thoroughly cleaning himself, hoping to avoid any extra staining. He feels dirty, and swollen, and raw, and none of that is helped by the arms wrapped around him. 

He’s caught, however. 

If he doesn’t move, he’s sure what bleeding has already started will continue, until it stains the bed, or worse, stains Chris. But if he does move, he’s sure to wake Chris up, and he doesn’t want to have this conversation right now. He doesn’t want to have _any _conversations about this, if he’s being honest. That’s something Maureen wants him to be: honest. 

Mats honestly doesn’t feel much like being honest when it comes to this. 

He woke up because he felt the cramps. They aren’t bad, now, but if he’s still, he can feel the aching, swirling pressure in his lower stomach, the knots starting up in his lower back, the ache and discomfort that will follow him for the next three days. He reaches a hand down, carefully laying it right where the band of his boxers sits, wishing not for the first time that he had simply had this removed. But that was before he had money, and now he can’t afford to have a surgery like this and set his career back even _further. _He couldn’t have taken the time off from training, and his mother certainly wouldn’t have helped. 

She’d barely raised a hand when he’d gotten his top surgery, but he’d had his brother and his friends for support during that time. 

For better or for worse, he’s an ocean away now. 

Another wave of nausea hits him, a low insistent swirl turning temporarily into a sharp solar flare of pain. He grits his teeth, catching a little of the inside of his lip in the process. Copper dances along the tip of his tongue, and his stomach growls, and since when did Chris’s arms get so _warm_? 

He imagines his plan. He’s facing the window, currently, meaning the stairs, and thus the bathroom, are behind him, closer to Chris than it is to him. He can escape the grip, stand up, and hurry up the stairs and into the bathroom before gravity does its dirty work on him. 

The pain subsides, but he feels squishy now, and he has to _go. _

His plan works, though by the time he’s got his foot on the first stair he hears Chris turning over in bed. He doesn’t have time to address that. Making it up the stairs feels like an impossibility, but soon he’s in the bathroom, the familiar wooden back of the door pressed against his shoulder blades as he presses in the lock. 

The shower helps, even as he resolutely stares at the white tile through the glass door, not looking down at the swirl of pink and red going down the drain. He doesn’t bother with washing his hair, though if memory serves correctly it gets even more greasy and unruly when it’s this time of the month. It’s not monthly, at least it’s not supposed to be. Frankly, he’s not even supposed to be _getting _this anymore, but he knows his health isn’t as great as it could be. Maybe he did this to himself. 

He rinses himself off, after just barely convincing himself not to scrub his body completely raw, and dries himself off in a dark blue towel, instead of his usual grey set. 

It hides the possible stains better. 

Mats checks behind the basket of extra towels and a few spare rolls of toilet paper and finds the plastic gallon freezer bag he keeps of supplies in times like this. He’s well practiced, managing to do the whole process with minimal discomfort, but he still washes his hands twice afterwards, before taking some Midol hidden in the mirrored cabinet behind regular ibuprofen. He then ties the towel around his waist, wanting to preserve some kind of normalcy, as he goes to the closet across the landing. 

Down on the first floor, he can see Chris is awake, putzing around the kitchen, doing something on his phone. Mats can see his usual mug of coffee set out on the edge of the island, Chris’s own behemoth serving in a much larger travel mug despite the fact that he never leaves the house with it. 

He takes a deep breath as he tugs on some sweatpants and a sweatshirt, thankful to whoever is listening that at least now his chest doesn’t hurt like it used to. At least it’s one bit of normalcy he can have. 

He makes his way down the stairs, hands dug deep into his pockets, until he stiffly makes his way up to the island. Chris slides in close to him, but doesn’t touch him; just hovers nearby. 

“Morning. You okay?” Mats knows if he looks over at him he’ll see those thick brows furrowed up, a slight pinch of concern between them and at the corners of Chris’ eyes. He knows Chris thinks he’s subtle with his emotions. It’s endearing. 

“‘m fine. Woke up a little sore, shower helped.” He gives in to the desire to lean closer, pressing his shoulder against Chris’ bare chest. 

“Didn’t go too rough on you, did I?” 

“No, you were fine. I told you.” Mats looks up, one hand wrapping around the mug of the coffee set in front of him. “It was a while in coming anyway, we knew I was going to be sore. I wanted it, Chris. Missed you.” 

“I missed you too,” Chris responds, though he doesn’t look convinced. “You sure you’re okay?” 

Mats just kisses him, and that’s enough for the time being.

* * *

Practice is difficult, if only because Mats has to let the trainers and equipment manager know beforehand, so they aren’t alarmed if more rusted stains appear on his gear or clothing. Chris and he don’t cross paths much until the actual practice begins, and if Mats is a little less talkative than normal, no one seems to comment on it. The heavy cloud of failure fills the lungs of each Ranger on the ice, their losing streak still stinging and fresh. 

Hank is professional, around the cameras, but it is a closed practice so he’s able to speak his mind to the team. More than once, Mats has to remind himself not to take it personally. It’s just Hank’s manner, it’s just how he is. Unbidden, something in him makes him look over to see Marc’s response to his husband’s judgment. The defenseman isn’t looking, and while Mats can only move with slow, deliberate movements, it seems Marc is all efficiency, trying to leave the room as fast as possible. 

Mats envies many things about his teammates, but in this regard he finds he does not find himself envious of the tension present in the Lundqvist-Staal household. Still, his mind puts him, for just a brief moment, into Marc’s position. Old, though not as hold as his husband, half-blind and still an alternate captain, yet no longer a top-pairing defenseman. Slowly being phased out as the team focuses on younger and younger talents, feeling his importance and presence being lessened and lessened, guys like Brady and Smithy taking over spots that used to be guaranteed real estate for him. It’s a slow end, and as unfortunate as it is, it doesn’t erase the fact that there are no excuses, because Hank is four years _older _and his own performance hasn’t yet reached the same level of deterioration. Mats has next to nothing in common with their positions - in the lineup and in the locker room - but he still wears an A and he knows change is coming.

A wave of emotion comes over him and he ducks his head, letting his hair obscure his expression and possible tears as he undoes his laces after practice. His mind is cluttered, searching for patterns where there aren’t any, but maybe he’s just trying to find some kind of support in the only other couple on the team, which isn’t fair to them in the first place but — 

He takes a deep breath, feeling the dull throbbing sharpen, briefly, and he turns his attention elsewhere. Should he shower now and cut off the flow from the rest of the team? Or should he wait and go last but risk leaking? No position seems comfortable enough to sit in, stiff movements all he can muster as he sheds nearly all of his gear. He sits in his under armor, shirtless in his stall, watching the team disperse into different parts of the facility.

He runs his hand down his face, teeth pressing against the meat of his palm, trying to settle himself. He’ll give it ten minutes. Ten minutes before he’ll shower, five minutes at most spent cleaning himself and getting dressed with sweats and grabbing something quick enough to eat on the road. Chris has plans, he knows, so he wouldn’t mind if Mats took the car. He’ll get home, have some peppermint tea, and watch something on Netflix before dinner, which he’ll either order or have Chris make for him. 

His plan goes smoothly until it comes time to get the keys from Chris. He’s waiting by the door to the parking garage, the keys in one hand, his phone in the other, not quite looking like he’s ready to go mess around with Mika and Buchy. 

“Thought you were going out with friends.” Mats tries to keep his tone light, not accusatory, simply curious. From the look on Chris’s face, he _almost _nails it. 

“Yeah, but I thought I could do the nice thing and drive you back. We hardly saw each other today.” He pauses, before softly continuing, “Is that…okay? I know you’re kind of…having a day.” Chris, damn him, doesn’t seem to care about the transparency of his facial expressions. He’s genuinely concerned, and Mats remembers that the drama from a few months back didn’t just leave scars on his body. 

“No, yeah, for sure. That works.” He digs his hands further into his pockets, biting his lower lip.

Chris gives him a funny look, but walks with him out to their truck, waiting in their usual spot. The lot is about a quarter empty - some of the guys with families or things to do have left, while some others are taking advantage of having the trainers around to get things looked at without media attention. Mats knows there’s no cameras, but he feels as if there’s one following them, ever present and stalking. The high visibility of being a professional athlete magnified by being a professional trans athlete in a mens league. His own anxieties spiral higher, and he reaches back a little to check. 

There’s nothing. 

He ducks quickly into the passenger seat, almost opening the door before Chris has unlocked it, and when he gets in he doesn’t say anything, just puts his head in his hands. 

Chris gets in and starts the car, uncharacteristically silent. They make it until the exit from the parking garage before Mats hears him softly call his name. He grunts in response. 

“Are things getting bad again?” he asks, carefully, his words barely tangible in the stagnant air of the car. Mats feels the pain bloom again, and he wants to curl up into a ball but he can’t; the act of pulling his legs to his chest is far more effort than his body can perform for him so soon after practice. 

“No, no. I’m fine. Just feeling a little off. I’m okay.” He tries to shoot him a smile, but it’s more of a grimace as the pain swirls again. Perhaps it’s for the best Chris was more focused on the road as they pull out of the structure. 

“Okay, well. I don’t want to…you know, _make _you talk about something when you’re not ready. But you know you can always talk to me. Or Maureen, if I’m not going to be as helpful as you need. Or any of the other guys, if-”

“Maureen doesn’t know about this. I don’t want to tell the guys.” He cuts Chris off with sharp words, clipped and jagged, and he bites his lower lip, already wishing to retract them. “Sorry, it’s just. It’s none of their business.” 

“But if you’re not feeling good-”

“I can handle it. I’ve handled it before. Just, I thought I was done with this.” 

Chris is silent for a moment. Mats can practically hear the gears turning in his head. He knows that Chris has a younger sister, so no matter how he may have thought of Chris’ interpretations of….people who go through this, he has definitely seen it take place in his home. 

It clicks as they drive through an intersection, hitting a pothole as Chris says “_Oh._” 

Mats bites his lower lip, curling up tighter in response to the jolting. “Don’t do that.” 

“Sorry.” 

“No, it’s…” The apology and the refusal of said apology come at the same time, in the same breath, and Mats shakes his head. “I was talking about the driving.” 

“Oh.” Chris seems appropriately sheepish, and is quiet for a moment. That moment stretches, long and languid and warm, and Mats wants to feel almost annoyed at it, but the pain distracts him until they’re pulling up next to their apartment. “This is your stop. Just…promise you’ll text me if you need anything? Mika and Buch can wait, I can see them any time.” 

Mats is already leaning against the car door, gathering himself for the brief steps from the car to the apartment building and then the secure elevator ride up to their loft. “No, I’m fine. Thank you, but go have fun. I don’t mean to distract.” 

There’s a heavy silence now, not so feline and relaxed, and Mats forces a smile. “I’ll see you tonight. I’ll be fine.” 

Chris reaches out, gently taking Mats’ wrist between his fingers. It’s a comforting hold, yet one Mats knows he could break at any moment. The pads of his fingers drift along the ridges of bone and tendon, feather-light and mothlike, so at odds with the solid presence Chris takes up in both the car and in his life. He waits a moment, then leans forward and kisses Chris, who eagerly and easily accepts. That hand remains gentle on his skin, while the other hand drifts upwards, cupping his stubbled jaw. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

The words come easily, freely from them both. Chris seems appeased by the kiss, less tension in the lines of his face. Mats can’t help but kiss him again, and again, and again, until they’re forced to part by the sound of an annoyed car horn. They’re somewhat still in the driving lane, he supposes. He pulls out of the kiss, looking at him with a shy smile. 

In this moment, he feels normal. In this moment, he feels okay. 

“Go have fun. I’ll see you tonight.” He repeats the words, and this time Chris accepts them. 

“Okay.” The word is but a whisper, and he releases Mats’ jaw from his hand, a gentle reluctance. “Love you.” 

“Love you too.” He smiles, but it’s blurred by the pain now, and he exits the car without a glance back. If he does, he’ll do something stupid, so instead he goes inside, curls up in bed, and takes a nap. It’s the first little bit that he’s felt less pain in a long while, but when Chris comes home and gently wakes him up, asking if he’d had lunch or dinner yet, Mats can only blearily respond in the negative. 

Dinner is simple, uneventful. They eat in bed, Chris having moved on from _Crime and Punishment _to _War and Peace, _seemingly content to continue his Russian literature experiences. Mats puts in some headphones and marathons a few episodes of _Ozark_, just playing catch up from when Chris had jumped ahead of him in their watch schedule. By the time he’s finished, they’re winding down for the night, and it’s time to sleep. 

Fitful hours pass, Mats unable to relax enough. He can’t sleep, partially due to his nap earlier today, but mostly due to discomfort. Chris is still awake, lying next to him, either scrolling social media or watching something with headphones in, because there’s no sound yet the definite soft blue glow of a screen. 

Mats lays on his side, one leg pushed out behind him a little to cross over Chris’s calf, still maintaining contact even as he tries to let himself drift off. He can’t help it though. His body won’t let him sleep, still buzzing with activity and thoughts and impressions from the day. He’s also incredibly horny, a frustrating feeling because there’s no outlet, unless he wants to disappear to the shower for a conspicuous amount of time at 11pm. It’s not a situation where Chris is being a little shit and _trying _to rile him up either. It’s solely his body’s fault, as much of this situation is.

He sighs and runs a hand down his face, before rolling over, looking at Chris. The apartment never really gets fully dark, and Chris is lit well enough from the city lighting and the phone screen. It takes but a few moments before Chris looks up from his phone, cheek rubbing against the pillow as he turns. “What?” 

The idea of asking Chris to do this for him is out of the question. Even the brief desperation where he thought it could _possibly _be a good idea isn’t enough to propel the question out of his mouth. Chris is a good guy, but Mats isn’t going to force this on him. Nevermind the fact that this is the first time he’s even considered letting another person help with this particular problem. Normally that’s between him and a shower head. 

He shakes his head, to clear the thoughts, the arousal, and the question. “Nothing, just. Still not feeling that good.” 

“Want some drugs?” Chris makes to get up, out of the bed, but Mats drags him back down.

“No. I’m good. Just…hold me?” In but a few seconds Mats is clutched back in those same arms from this morning, though this time they feel less like a prison and more like home. Chris rolls onto his side so he can better hold him. Pressed this close to Chris, it’s easy to work his leg between Chris’, allowing him to wrap his legs around one muscular thigh. Even the pressure is enough to ease some of the tenderness, though it certainly doesn’t help his arousal. It’s a double edged sword, but Mats doesn’t care. 

He waits for a moment, waits for Chris to say something or for him to try to move his leg away, but he doesn’t. It ends up being Mats who asks, “Is…this okay?” 

To which Chris replies, “Is it helping?” 

Mutely, he nods, and Chris just smiles, the grin pressed to the top of Mats’ head before he cradles him closer, drifting off. 

He wakes up with a spike of pleasure, uncertain hands grasping Chris’ shoulder, and a soft, nervous chuckle. “You…feeling okay there babe?” Chris’ voice is too clear, and as he blinks his eyes open he realizes that it’s still dark. At some point they fell asleep, he remembered that much, which means it’s — 

“It’s early, we still have time, but…you…Mats?” 

He grunts some unintelligible noise, suddenly afraid to move lest he become too aware of what’s happening. At least this way, he can claim he didn’t know. At least this way, he can pretend that everything was an accident. Already he’s trying to think of the best plan to get both he and Chris upstairs and cleaned up, in case he leaked through anything. 

“Just a dream then, yeah?” The words are still hesitant, and Mats looks up at Chris, never once knowing him to beat around the bush when he had a question to ask. 

“Yeah? Did I…are _you _okay?” Mats reaches one hand beneath the covers, beneath his waistband, trying to see if he can feel the damp heavy stickiness of blood soaked cloth. 

“Yeah, no, I’m fine, I just. You woke me up, thought you were having a nightmare. You were moving a lot.” 

Mats brows furrow and he withdraws his hand, clean from anything, though as he moves he becomes aware that he’s wrapped around Chris’ leg like a vice. It doesn’t take too long for him to realize what must have happened, though it’s weird for him to not quite remember a dream like that. 

“Oh.” 

Intelligible. 

“No, I…I’m fine. Sorry I woke you up.” 

Chris is slow to respond. Mats wonders if he’s going to awkwardly leave the bed, if he’s somehow wasted the seemingly limitless patience Chris has to offer. Chris does move away, gently pulling his leg out from Mats grip, and for a moment, Mats has to just tell himself not to die of embarrassment and shame. But the shame evaporates when Chris puts a hand on Mats’ lower stomach, warm and solid. “Still cramping up a little?” His voice is gentle, softened by understanding, and Mats just nods, his lower lip trapped between his teeth. 

“You know….they say orgasms can help with that.” 

The words are unexpected. Mats looks at Chris, searching for some kind of marker that this is a joke. There isn’t, though; if anything, Chris seems a little uncertain as well, which is oddly reassuring. “I mean, if you want me to help. I don’t have to. I know this…well, I don’t _know, _but I _assume _this is kind of a personal thing. Well, not kind of, it is a personal thing, but. If you don’t want me to touch you, that’s fine, just let me know, but I — ”

“Are you sure?” The question shuts Chris up, gets him a nod in response. 

He’s left a little empty handed, uncertain of where to start, but he knows Chris is in the same situation, and that helps. So he sits up and kisses him, soft to test and then getting stronger afterwards. Chris’ body is familiar, his touch even moreso, and it doesn’t take long before they realize there’s nothing extra at stake here. Still, about the time Chris usually tries to sneak in a solid twenty minutes of oral, he pulls out of the kiss, looking down at Mats with a flushed expression. “What…what do you want me to do?” 

He looks patient, but Mats can feel how hard he is. “We can…I dunno. Could get in the shower, make for easier clean up. Definitely use a condom though.” It’s not their normal, but he’s going to be wet down there for another couple of days and he’s not trying to experiment with semen, tampons, and TSS.

“Sure for the condom, but I dunno, the sheets are black and laundry day is soon anyway.” 

“We have to _wash _the sheets tonight then. I dunno, that’s kind of…” 

“Be right back.” Chris kisses his forehead and then darts off of the bed, and Mats is left several shades of confused, considering that their condoms are in the bookshelf right beside their bed. Still, he gets up and pushes the comforter down, trying to think less about the arousal he’s feeling now and more about the relief he’ll get soon. By that point, Chris is back, with a handful of condoms and a towel. Mats blushes as Chris gestures for him to move so he can lay the towel out, double folded for extra absorbency, and then knee-walks his way up to him.

“You sure you’re ready?” 

Mats feels like he should be the one asking that question, but Chris is already pulling a few condoms closer to them and he thinks he’s being a little hopeful to have multiple condoms, but he’s not going to say anything. “Yeah, I’m ready. Are…I mean, you’re still going to have to, uh…I mean, I can, if you want, but —”

Chris shushes him, one hand on his hip, the other trailing up his bare torso. “It’s fine. I mean, I can’t lick my fingers clean like I usually do, but that’s what the towel’s for.” He winks at him, and Mats is pretty sure he got this boyfriend through some kind of mistake. 

“You’re too good to me.” 

“I haven’t even started.”

Chris is amused, which is good. Amused meant relaxed. Amused meant not grossed out. Amused meant progressing forward. 

Mats lifts his hips a little as Chris works his joggers and underwear down, tossing them to the side of the bed. He leaves his hands on Mats’ thighs as he pulls him a little closer, leaning down to take him into a kiss. Mats takes a few moments before he loses himself in the kiss, letting the nerves bubble up and dissipate, relaxed by the close proximity. He wraps his arms around Chris’ shoulders, holding him close. The moment is soft, and gentle, subtly shattered by the press of Chris’s fingers to his cock. Chris rubs him in slow circles, but everything is more sensitive now with the additional blood flow between his legs. He leans his head back, panting softly in the pale yellow light of their bed. 

“Fuck, Chris, feels s’good…” His words are soft, a sigh almost, and Chris kisses down his jaw in response, humming softly in agreement.

Slowly, he feels Chris move his fingers down lower, sliding in and filling him in a way that immediately soothes some of the ache. It’s pleasurable, and it’s like a massage, easing the tense muscles that have been in knots for hours upon hours. Chris goes slow, but he doesn’t hesitate; confident and considerate, and Mats thinks he might lose it just from the combination. The soft, wet press of teeth and tongue against his neck as Chris marks him up only adds to the sensation.

The pleasure mounts, Mats ridiculously easy after being so wound up for so long. Chris adds another finger, soft murmured praise for how well he’s taking him, his thumb still massaging along the base of his cock. Mats feels full, and warm; for once he feels comfortable, and the sensation of sudden pain relief pushes him over the edge as he comes. He tightens around Chris’ fingers, his own hands buried in Chris’ hair, holding him against him. 

“That was…” He can’t finish his sentence. He already feels better, muscles relaxed and tension unwound. Chris pulls his fingers free and actually makes a noise of sadness, before Mats feels the slight tug on the towel beneath his hips as he wipes his fingers off. 

“Not too sensitive for more?” Chris asks, pausing before reaching for the condoms. Mats doesn’t look at his hand, unsure what wires would be crossed the next time he saw Chris with bloody fingers, but reaches down and passes a condom to him. 

“No. I want more. If you, you know, want —”

“Yes, of course I want to. I always want to fuck you, you know that. You’re hot.” He says it like it’s no big deal. Maybe to Chris it’s not. But to Mats, who is laying in a reminder of so many of his issues compiled into one, it’s a _huge _deal. He hears the tearing of the condom wrapper, the familiar if not rare sound of the condom rolling down Chris’ length. 

“Please.” The word slips out, unattached to any other thought. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, wide eyes suddenly a bit too aware, suddenly a bit too untethered. Chris crawls over him, clean hand running through his hair, pushing the long dark strands out of his way. 

“Hey, it’s okay. ‘m right here.” Gentle words and kind eyes ease away the panic. “If you want me to stop, I will. ”

“No, I’m fine. Just…keep going. Want to make you feel good.” 

Chris’ brows furrow and he tilts his head, chuckling a little in genuine amazement. “Literally nothing about this situation is about me, babe. _I _want to make _you _feel good.” 

Mats bites his lower lip, not trusting his words, and just lifts his hips a little, closing the distance. He watches as Chris’ eyes darken, impossibly so, and he moves his hand down, wrapping his hand around Chris’ length. He guides him along his opening, little starbursts of pleasure sparking every time he brushes their cocks together. It has Chris bowing his head, pressing his nose and mouth against Mats’ marked neck, panting quietly. 

“Fuck, babe, please, _please, _please…” Mats is reminded of the way Chris had begged so sweetly a mere few months ago. It’s just as sweet now. It’s just as nice to be reminded that, as complicated and strange as their dynamics may seem at the end of the day, Chris really is young and just wants to please. He’s mature, well-read, well-spoken, but that doesn’t erase the years between them. Apparent now, more than ever. 

Mats can’t help himself. “Wanna fuck me?” 

“_Yes! _Yes, yeah, fuck, _please._” The pleas come easily, and Mats finally stops teasing him, just lines him up with his entrance and lets Chris begin to press in. He takes him easy as anything, relaxed from his previous orgasm and slicked from more than his own cum. Before long, Mats is able to fully wrap his legs around Chris’ waist, letting him get deeper, each stroke filling him even better than his fingers. 

He’s sensitive, for a multitude of reasons, but Chris tries to be gentle with him, though all he wants is to be _fucked. _He whispers this to Chris and that’s how he gets Chris holding his calf and thigh, spreading his legs easier as he fucks him harder, hips snapping against his, Mats’ hands braced against Chris’ chest, head tossed back, and it’s good, it’s better than good, it’s what he’s been missing out on for years and he finally is getting it now and he sure as hell hopes this is good for Chris because it’s good for him, it’s so good, it’s _so good _—

The thoughts filter out into fuzzy white as he comes again, only belatedly realizing Chris has one hand between them, his fingers slick with Mats’ own mess, stroking him off to add to the pleasure. It doesn’t take much longer, as he’s trying to recover his breath, to hear the little hitch in Chris’ breath, the way his hips press close to his as he finds his own pleasure. 

Chris waits but a few moments before he moves to pull out, presumably to begin figuring out how to remove and tie off a condom with a mess on both sides of it. Selfishly, Mats follows him, wiggling his hips down a little, teeth still set in his bottom lip. 

“Feels better being full,” he admits, voice slightly hoarse. He’s not ready for round three, that’s going to take a little while for him to get to. Or perhaps not; he’s never had the desire stick through this after he’s gotten himself off before, but maybe with Chris helping things will be different. He hardly knows, and instead of feeling like a failure for not knowing, he feels…excited. It’s something new to learn, and he gets to learn it with Chris too. 

Right now, he’s relearning a lesson he learned quite a while ago. 

He _really _likes when Chris is utterly fucked out. 

He runs his hand through Chris’ curls, gently scrunching here and there. Eventually he reaches the point where his body needs to just relax — that and he’s pretty sure he’s going to at least rinse off before getting back into bed. There’s work to do, and he’s not going to make Chris do it all, though he knows he’d probably just let it happen. 

“Chris.” 

All he has to do is say his name and Chris gets up, moving enough to crash onto his side next to Mats, still within petting distance. Mats tries not to wince at the small twinge of soreness, nor at the small trickle following Chris’ departure. “We should clean up.” 

“Yeah…we should.” Chris makes no effort to move, but Mats can’t move until Chris does. He flicks his shoulder, getting a grunt in response. “What?” 

“You need to move so I can move.” He’d also, despite everything that had just happened, like a little privacy in standing up from bed and making his way upstairs and to the shower. 

Chris mutters something under his breath but sits up, turns and gets off the bed, removing and tying off the condom before dropping it into the trash. In that time, Mats hasn’t quite had enough time to brace himself for looking between his legs to see what must be the mess left behind. He’s still laying in bed, a mess of feel good hormones and feel bad thoughts. 

“Here. Lift your hips a little.” 

Mats doesn’t look at him, but does as he says. He feels Chris reach toward his waist, partially taking the towel out from underneath him. He then wraps it around Mats’ waist, providing another layer of security; when Mats looks down, the clean side is against his skin, but somehow the mess is nowhere to be seen. He doesn’t have much time to waste inspecting the wrapping. Chris scoops him up in his arms and carries him up the stairs to the bathroom, holding Mats in a bridal carry, the towel doing a much smoother job than Mats is sure his rushed attempts would have been. 

Despite their exhaustion, Chris brings them both to the shower, starting up the water to get it properly warm. As it soaks the two of them, rivulets of red and pink washing off of both men, Mats reaches up and pulls Chris into a kiss. 

“I’m sorry I scared you earlier.” Mats’ voice is but a whisper, echoed and magnified by the acoustics in the bathroom. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“You’re allowed to keep secrets, Mats. I just don’t want you to feel like you _have _to. And…yeah, I got a little worried. But…I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I get worried.” Large hands cup Mats’ face, thumbs smoothing down damp cheeks. 

Wordlessly, he nods in understanding. He always knew Chris was far too good for him. He didn’t deserve to have someone this selfless in his life. What had he done to earn such a thing? What had he accomplished that warranted such a gift? 

Chris’ brows furrow, and he leans down, kissing Mats softly. It’s warm, gentle, all-encompassing. It’s the type of kiss that usually is the last thing Mats remembers before falling asleep for the night; that banishes the negative thoughts from crowding too close, enabling him to fall asleep. It’s calming. It’s home. 

They part with a gentle noise, erased by the hushing of the water. Mats blinks up at Chris, more than a little dazed from the kiss and from the sex. One hand comes up, wrapping around Chris’ wrist, an echo of their embrace in the car.

How long ago that seemed now. 

“I love you, and I want you to be safe. Even if you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, in the future, just let me know how I can help.” 

The words are genuine, and Mats nods in agreement. 

A smirk comes over Chris’ features, though his eyes somehow stay innocent. “And I’m always down to fuck you better. I didn’t even know that was an option until now.” 

Mats scrunches his nose and punches his shoulder. “Keep teasing me, see what happens.” 

“I’m not teasing you, I learned since last time. I’m just saying, sex therapy is clearly what I’m best at. Talking is good, my cooking is great, but we both know my real talents lie in —”

“I can’t hear you, I’m busy cleaning up your mess.” Mats turns away from Chris, soaping up his hands and beginning to wash the inside of his thighs, up and over his abdomen. Simple work that immediately makes him feel better.

“_Our _mess.” 

“_How _is this a shared mess?” 

Chris presses in close behind him, the last of the suds drifting away as Mats rinses himself off. Larger hands reach down, spreading from hipbone to his groin, tantalizingly close. 

“If you need a reminder…” 

Mats knows his limits, and he knows Chris knows his limits too. But he also knows that in the shower, clean up is easier, and maybe, just in case the satisfied ache in his lower stomach blossoms into a cramp later, he should take preventative measures. 

Just in case. 

“Remind me please.” 

**Author's Note:**

> comments make the world go around, just saying 🌎♡


End file.
